Home Truths
by PrincessFi
Summary: Tony interviews a very special witness. Chapter 2 now posted.
1. Chapter 1

**Home Truths**

Gibbs threw the file down on the desk and stood with his hands on his hips.

"Goddamit!" he shouted.

The rest of the team jumped. Ducky, who had been standing talking quietly to Tony, turned and raised an eyebrow.

"No luck, Jethro?" he queried softly.

Gibbs head spun around, but his glare faded a little when he saw the doctor's sympathetic smile.

"I don't need luck, Ducky," Gibbs retorted, sitting back on the edge of the desk, shoulders slumped. "I need this kid to talk to me. Without him, we don't have a case."

"And with him?" Ducky asked quietly.

"We have a good chance of putting his bastard of a father away for life. I am sure this kid has information. I know he does. I just can't get him to talk to me."

"Can the Child Protection Officer....?"

Gibbs snorted, and Ducky knew better than to ask him to elaborate.

"We are running out of time, Ducky!"

The doctor moved over and stood in front of him. "Why don't you let someone else try to interview the boy? Maybe ...Tony?"

Gibbs snorted again, and Tony's head shot up. The two men locked eyes for a moment, and then Tony stood and stepped out from behind his desk.

"Tony?" McGee asked nervously.

"I'm going to the head, McSnoopy. Do I need a hall pass now?" He walked off without waiting for McGee's response.

Ducky glared at Gibbs, mouth set closed and eyebrows down. Gibbs looked a little abashed and gave an apologetic shrug. "He's no good with kids, Duck, you know that." Gibbs kept his voice low, but he needn't have bothered. Ziva and McGee both knew why Gibbs had responded as he did.

"You may be right, in some cases," Ducky replied, just as quietly. "But not in every case, Jethro."

Gibbs looked at him sharply.

"Let Tony try," the doctor insisted.

"Gibbs," Ziva protested. "Is there really any point?"

"I dunno Ziva, why don't you ask Ducky?" Gibbs shot back.

"There is a point." Ducky spoke loudly, his words clipped and harsh.

"But Ducky, if Gibbs could not get him to talk....." The Israeli was not backing down.

"Gibbs is good with some children, Ziva, but maybe not all." Ducky turned and took a few steps towards her. "The children he has been good with, the little boy whose father was kidnapped, what was his name?"

Gibbs was tired and angry, and being talked about as if he was not there was not helping his mood. "Zac," he barked. "Zac Tanner."

"Yes, and that lovely little deaf girl, and the other one, the Boy Scout..."

"Their names were Sandy and Carson," Gibbs interrupted angrily. "What of it, Ducky?"

Ducky turned back to face him.

"Jethro, they were all strong, confident children. They had loving parents, they were cared for. Of course you connected with them. But that boy you have in there," he gestured to the conference room, and walked back until he stood face to face with Gibbs. "He has had none of that. He has been abused and neglected by his father. He has spent his whole childhood isolated and afraid. How could you, of all people, possibly know what to say to him?"

There was silence. Ducky dropped his eyes and rubbed his hand across his forehead. Gibbs had the impression that the doctor had said more than he intended.

Tony returned to his desk but before he could sit down Gibbs barked out an order.

"DiNozzo."

"Yeah Boss," Tony's voice was unusually subdued.

"See if you can get anywhere with the kid."

Tony glanced at Ducky, who gave him an encouraging nod. After a moment, and without taking anything from his desk, Tony walked over to the conference room.

"McGee," Gibbs ordered. "Turn on the surveillance camera in the conference room."

"Is that a good idea?" the junior agent asked quickly.

"They'll see the light come on. If they want us to turn it off, they'll let us know."

The agents and Ducky all turned to look at the plasma.

DiNozzo was sitting opposite the boy, both silent. An older black woman in a pale blue cardigan sat motionless at the end of the table. As the screen came to life, she and Tony both looked quickly up at the camera and then at each other. The woman nodded, and after a moment's pause, he did too.

Gibbs looked at Ducky, who conceded with a nod of his own.

Sitting slumped in a chair at the conference table, Paulo Raffaele looked even smaller than his eleven years. On the table in front of him was a pile of matchbox cars, kept in a cupboard in the conference room, and extracted on the rare occasions when small children needed to be kept occupied. For some reason someone had thought they would be appropriate for an eleven year old. Without speaking or looking at either the agent opposite him or the woman in the corner, Paulo was arranging the cars one by one into a neat row.

Tony sat opposite him, leaning back in his chair, watching the boy.

"I see you're organising them by year of manufacture," Tony commented quietly.

There was silence, and then the boy nodded.

"I used to do it in speed order – fastest to slowest. What's your favourite?"

The boy paused, his hand hovering in mid air over the cars. Then he rested his finger on one, and slid it out of the line towards Tony.

"Aaah," Tony sighed in appreciation, "the Ford GT. A classic. Good choice." He reached over and slid another car from the row. "I always liked this one – the Mercedes Benz 220SE. It had the most parts that opened and closed. And steerable wheels. Very cool." He slid it carefully back into place.

Paulo did not look up.

Tony waited a moment, and then folded his hands on the table and leant forward.

"Paulo, we have to talk."

The boy blinked at the sound of his name.

"Don't like Paulo?" Tony asked. "What, then?"

Silence again.

"How about Paulie?" Tony suggested.

The child did not respond.

"Okay, Paulie. " Tony drew a deep breath. "I know my boss was in here talking to you. He's been telling you that you should talk to us, because we'll look after you, we can guarantee to keep you safe." Tony paused, but the boy continued lining up the cars.

"But you've heard that before, and you and I both know it's a crock of shit."

In the bullpen, Gibbs' head jerked back. What the hell was DiNozzo thinking? He heard Ziva give a small hiss of disapproval.

"Who else have you heard it from, Paulie?" Tony asked. "A teacher, a doctor? I heard it once from a priest."

He chose a car from the unsorted pile, and rolled it slowly around the table, his eyes fixed on its path.

"They say they can stop it," he continued quietly, "they say "I'll do something about this," but they don't, because they can't."

Now Paulie was still, one fingertip resting on the top of a car.

"And they can't, because when you walk out of the classroom, or the church, or the examination room, there's your father, standing there. And you know something is going to happen to that teacher or priest or doctor. Maybe they'll get lucky and a big fat cheque will come their way. Or if not, they'll get transferred. Or it will turn out that their boss is buddies with your father...." Tony's voice dwindled and he kept staring at the car

"And so when he tells them how clumsy you are, and how you fell off your skateboard, or fell down the stairs, and he says "That's right, isn't it Paulo?" you just say "yes." Because there's no point saying anything else."

Tony's voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as if he was simply recounting a simple fact. He was looking only at the car in front of him, as he weaved it into figure eights.

Gibbs closed his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ducky. Behind him, Ziva and McGee were silent.

"And while NCIS has got the best chance of protecting you, being a bunch of heavily armed Federal Agents instead of some pissant local cops," Tony continued, "you know that there'll be a judge or a jury down the line somewhere, and maybe your father can get his way with them too."

"So," Tony continued, in the same low, calm voice, "there's not much point me saying that we can guarantee to keep you safe, is there?"

Paulie looked at him. "Nope," he said softly. It was the first word he had spoken all day.

"But I don't think that's the reason you're not talking to us, is it?" Now Tony was carefully driving the car around in circles on the table. "You don't believe Gibbs, but you have a better reason for not talking, don't you?"

Tony paused, and drew a slow breath. The car had stopped moving.

"You think," Tony looked directly at the boy, "that if you don't talk to us, then you and your father are going to walk out of here, and your father will know that you didn't talk. And he'll be happy, and maybe he'll be proud of you. Maybe he'll wrap an arm around your shoulders and say "Well done, son"."

Tony paused for a second, allowing the vision of the grateful father to float in the air above the table between him and the child. Then with a flick of his finger he sent the car back into the pile. He looked up.

"Paulie, we both know that's not going to happen."

The camera allowed them a clear view of Tony's face, but the child was low in his chair and his expression was not as visible. But there was no mistaking the way his head dropped, and his shoulders slumped even lower at Tony's final words. Then he raised his head and glared at the agent opposite him.

"He might," he whispered.

"He won't," Tony replied, "I'm sorry Paulie, I really am." His voice was firm, but there was no mistaking the genuine grief and sympathy in it. "But he just won't."

Paulie dropped his head again, and Tony let him sit quietly for a few moments.

"Paulie," Tony's voice was almost pleading as he leant forwards towards the child, "I could sit here for hours telling you that your father is a bastard, and that's the reason he hits you. I could tell you over and over that there is nothing wrong with you, there's nothing you did or didn't do that has made him treat you like this. I could say that it's not your fault until I pass out. " Tony's hands were resting on the table and as he spoke he turned them, so they rested palm up. "But it's going to take a lot longer than that for you to believe it."

He drew another deep breath. "I need you to understand something right now. And that is that not speaking to us is not going to help you. If you don't speak, we have no choice but to let your father go. We'll tell him that you didn't speak to us, but he might not believe it. Or he will believe it, but he'll want to make damned sure you don't talk next time. Either way, it's going to be bad. I'm sorry Paulie, but that's how it is. And you know it." His gaze was fixed on the boy, unblinking.

Paulie turned his face away from Tony as he spoke, as if shrinking from the words. Finally, he turned back, and wiped a hand across his eyes. Sitting up straighter, he looked at the agent. Even on the plasma, Gibbs could see the pain in his eyes.

"So that's it, is it? I'm screwed then?" His voice was quiet, his tone bitter, his voice too old for his years.

"No," Tony said quietly. "If you go home with your father, you're screwed. If you talk to us, we will have a reason to put you into care, into witness protection, and then you have a chance. We will do everything we can to keep you safe. I can't promise that we will succeed, no-one can promise that, but we will do everything we can." He paused. "Paulie, you know it's the truth. If you want to get away from your father, we are your last, best chance."

He sat still, awaiting a response. Paulie was silently, staring at a car held in his hands.

Without looking up, he spoke. "I'm scared," he said softly. "I'm scared of not knowing what's going to happen. I think maybe I'd rather just stick with what I know."

Gibbs felt his stomach drop. They were so close, C'mon DiNozzo, he thought, you're so close.

Tony shot a glance at the woman in the corner.

Finally, she spoke. "Paulie," her voice was low and well modulated, soothing, but not soft. "While you're helping NCIS, you'll stay in a hotel, with some agents to look after you. After that, we'll try to place you with a permanent foster family. If we do that, it will be a long way away from here, in another part of the country."

"And if no-one wants me? If you can't place me?" He stressed the second to last word.

"One alternative is that you become a boarder at a school, a nice school," she hastened to add, "and you stay with temporary foster families during the holidays. As soon as you are old enough, we set you up in an apartment of your own."

The boy frowned and dropped his head.

"School's not that bad," DiNozzo offered quietly. "I got sent to military school when I was a kid. It was okay. Other kids hated it, but I thought it was okay."

Paulie tilted his head sideways and looked up at him. "Why?"

"Because they only hit you if you broke the rules. And the rules didn't change. Don't break the rules, and you don't get hit."

Christ almighty, Gibbs thought. That's hardly a Disney childhood.

Tony continued. "I liked some of the classes and I played a lot of sport. I made a few friends and I used to go and stay with their families during the holidays. I told them my parents had gone to Europe and didn't want me to come along. It was okay."

Paulie raised his head slightly, his eyes distant, as if considering the possibility.

"Then I got to college," Tony enthused. "And there were no rules. That was awesome." He leaned back in his chair, and smiled a wide warm smile.

Paulie's mouth twitched. "That doesn't sound too bad," he conceded.

Tony leaned forwards again. "I'm not going to lie to you kid, there are going to be tough bits. Times when you're lonely, times when you want to go home, no matter how bad home was, but you'll get through."

Paulie sat, his head bowed.

Tony pressed on. "I don't know what your father has told you, but I can guess, and I'm telling you he was wrong."

The boy looked away.

"He's wrong about you, Paulie. You're a tough kid. You're strong. Hell, none of the kids at your school have survived what you have. How many of them do you think could last eleven years with your father? Most of them couldn't last ten minutes."

He paused and reached his hands closer to the boy, but he did not touch him.

"If you stay tough," Tony said slowly, "if you stay strong, you'll get through this. You'll come out the other side with your own life. This is the only way out Paulie. And you can do it."

Paulie remained silent. Tony shot a quick glance at the Child Protection Officer, and seemed to be considering his next words carefully.

"I can't promise it will be easy, but I can promise one thing." His voice was deadly serious now. "You will never be alone, Paulie, not unless you want to be. You will always have people to talk to, people looking out for you, making sure you're okay."

"You?" Paulie shot back.

"Yeah, me, her over there in the corner, your foster parents, Gibbs. There'll be a counsellor for you to talk to, and if the counsellor is a dick, 'cause they sometime are, we will get you one who isn't. You won't be doing this alone."

No-one spoke. In the bullpen, they could hear the sounds of the boy's breathing.

"Can I think about it for a minute? Alone?"

"Sure kid, you can think about it." DiNozzo stood, and gestured to woman in the corner. "We'll be right outside."

Tony and the woman disappeared from the plasma screen and Gibbs heard the door of the conference room open. He turned to see them step out and shut the door behind them. As soon as the door was closed, the woman rested her hand on Tony's arm and spoke quietly to him. She smiled at him and Tony smiled back. They turned to walk towards them and Gibbs's eyes flicked back to the screen, where he saw Paulie sitting quietly, turning the car over in his hands.

He looked back and caught Tony's eyes. There was something like defiance in them, a tension and watchfulness, as if he was expecting a rebuke and had already decided that he was not going to tolerate it. His body was tight and stiff, bracing for a blow. He was in fight mode.

Gibbs ignored it and addressed the woman standing at his side. "I seem to have forgotten your name."

"Marion," she said with a smile. "Marion la Salle."

They shook hands and he introduced her to the rest of the team. Then he turned his gaze back to his senior agent. If Tony was wound any tighter he'd explode, Gibbs thought anxiously. He needed to fix this. Or at least, he needed to say something that wouldn't make it any worse.

"Good job Tony," he settled for, inadequately, he thought.

Some of the fire went out of Tony's eyes and some of the stiffness out of his posture. His lips twitched into a fleeting smile.

"Thanks Boss," he responded softly. Then he looked down and shifted from foot to foot.

"My dear boy," Ducky said gently. "You did very well." The doctor turned and glanced over his shoulder at the other agents. "Ziva, why don't you get Anthony one of those chocolate bars that he likes from the vending machine?"

"Of course, Ducky," Ziva agreed, giving Tony a quick smile.

Sugar, Gibbs thought, good idea, that's what he needs. But Tony's eyes flicked back to his, still angry, still armed. No, that's not what he need, Gibbs corrected. So what the hell does he need?

He became conscious of a pair of cool eyes appraising him, and glanced at Marion as if she might give him a clue. All she did was to tilt her head slightly in Tony's direction. He looked at the younger man and shook his head slightly, at a loss as to he was meant to do.

Ziva returned from the vending machine with a bounce and handed Tony an enormous Hershey bar. He took it with a smile and a murmur of thanks, but then fumbled and dropped it.

Gibbs bent over quickly and picked it up. As he reached out one hand to return it, he stepped in a little closer and rested his other hand on Tony's back. At that contact, in that instant, something in Tony seemed to release. He exhaled heavily, dropped his head and swayed a little. Gibbs instinctively rested his other hand on Tony's chest, supporting him. Tony closed his eyes for a second and swallowed.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked quietly.

Tony lifted his head and looked at Gibbs. The tension, the defensiveness, was gone from his eyes. He looked a little tired and a little sad, but he looked like Tony again. Whatever battle he had been expecting to fight, or indeed had fought, was over. He took the bar from Gibbs's hand where it rested on his chest, but Gibbs kept both hands on him, waiting until he felt Tony stand straight and still.

Tony gave him a small smile.

"I'm fine Boss, thanks."

Gibbs dropped his hands. As easy as that, he thought. It wasn't much to need. Ducky's lips twitched in a quiet smile.

Tony ripped open the bar and took a huge bite. Then he looked around at the assembled team.

"Anyone want some?" he mumbled through the chocolate.

"Agent Gibbs?"

They all turned. Paulie stood in the door to the conference room, pale, but calm.

"I'll talk to you now." That was all he said, before turning and going back into the room.

Gibbs spoke to Tony, who quickly swallowed his mouthful of chocolate and wiped a hand across his mouth.

"I want you with me," he said firmly. "And with him. But not all the time. McGee and David will take shifts as well, and I'll get some other agents to help. Marion," he turned to the woman beside him, "you need to do the same at your end."

"No problems," she said calmly. "I have some good people. I'll make sure someone is with him at all times."

She walked back towards the conference room at Gibbs's side, Tony falling into step behind them. "Don't worry Agent Gibbs," she said quietly. "We'll look after your boy."

He smiled.

FF_1569342_862730465


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours after the shooting Tony was giving his statement to another team as required by NCIS regulations. And Gibbs was sitting beside Paulo's bedside trying piece together the story from hesitant whispers he coaxed from the boy.

He could hardly believe that it was only 24 hours since former Navy Lieutenant Franco Raffaele had escaped from custody and a mere six hours since Paulo had been reported missing.

Franco himself was laid out on a table in autopsy with a bullet from Tony's gun through his forehead. Paulie was in a bed in Mercy Hospital.

No one knew how Franco had found out where the boy was living, and now no-one would know why he had stopped to abduct Paulo rather than just fleeing the country. But what Franco did not know was that there were GPS chips not just in the boy's phone, but also in his shoes and in his school bag.

In the tense stand-off that ensued the agents saw just what sort of man Franco Raffaele was.

Holed up and with no hope of escape, Franco had held Paulo's semi-conscious body in front of him like a shield, a gun pressed to his child's head.

Gibbs heard Franco's and Tony's voices overlapping as he moved towards them. "Put him down! Put down the gun! I'll kill him! I'll do it! Step back! Put down the gun!"

As Gibbs came into the room, Franco's eyes flicked towards him and by reflex the hand holding the gun moved in the lead agent's direction. In that second Tony fired. Franco's body dropped, his arm still clutched around his son.

Although there was no doubt that Franco was dead, Gibbs kept his weapon trained on him as Tony moved in to gently lift the child from the floor.

As he recorded the last details of Paulie's statement' Gibbs thought he had all he needed. He sat back in his chair and looked closely at the child.

Paulie's eyes had been fixed on the bed clothes throughout the interview. But finally he raised them and met Gibb's gaze. "He's dead, isn't he?" he asked softly.

Holding the eye contact, Gibbs nodded. To his surprise Paulie's eyes filled with tears.

Tony appeared in the doorway and stood for a moment, one hand resting on the jamb. Then he drew a breath and entered the room. Moving slowly, he sat on the side of the bed. He looked, Gibbs thought, exhausted.

"Paulie," Tony began.

"You killed him, didn't you?" the child interrupted, his voice choked.

Tony hesitated for a second before meeting Paulie's eyes and giving a small nod. "Yes," he answered simply.

Paulie exploded up from the pillow.

"No!" he sobbed, tears now coursing freely down his cheeks. He pounded both small fists against Tony's chest, momentarily rocking the agent back. Paulie kept flailing, but instead of pushing him away Tony wrapped his arms around the child and pulled him close, effectively smothering his movements.

Gibbs rose anxiously from the chair, but Tony gave a quick shake of his head. Gibbs could still hear the child's muffled voice sobbing "I hate you! I hate you!" He hesitated, but Tony shook his head again and Gibbs slowly sat back down. Tony closed his eyes and turned his face away from Gibbs.

Finally Paulie stopped struggling and his small body slumped limply against Tony's chest. Tony held him in his arms for a few moments, and then gently lay him back on the pillows. Paulie immediately rolled onto his side away from the agents and curled into a tight ball, burying his face into his pillow, still crying quietly.

Tony simply sat there, making no move to touch the child. Then he rose slowly and walked to the door. He turned to look at Gibbs. Gibbs glanced at the child but again Tony shook his head. Gibbs' mind turned back to the events of a year before, and he deferred to what he accepted as Tony's better understanding. Rising, he followed his senior agent from the room.

Tony pulled the sliding glass door partially closed and he and Gibbs stepped away into the corridor.

Gibbs looked at him but Tony was looking at his shoes, his hands jammed in his trouser pockets, neck and shoulders rigid and still. Gibbs didn't speak, giving his senior agent time to compose himself. After a few moments Tony looked up. His eyes were dry, but there was a deep sorrow there that cut through Gibbs like a knife. Tony's eyes were old. Gibbs rested a hand on Tony's shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze and stayed silent.

After a few seconds, the corner of Tony's mouth quirked a little. It was nowhere near a smile, not even a try for one, but it was something. Gibbs knew what was coming. "I'm fine, Boss," Tony reassured him, "I am, really."

Gibbs shook his head at the predictability of his senior agent and slowly removed his hand. Together they looked back through the door. Paulie was no longer crying and seemed to have fallen into an exhausted sleep.

Gibbs frowned. "I don't understand," he murmured, as much to himself as to Tony. "I don't understand why he behaved like that."

"I do."

Gibbs started and stared at the younger man. "Can you tell me?" It was an inquiry, not an order.

Tony paused, bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow. His silence didn't bother Gibbs. While Tony obviously had a unique insight into Paulie's mind, that was not the same as articulating it to his boss.

Finally he spoke. "His father was a bastard," Tony began quietly, "but there was always a chance that he wouldn't be. There was a chance that one day he would say he was sorry, that he didn't mean it. Maybe one day he would change. Maybe one day he'd ..." he struggled, "he'd be a real father. Maybe one day he would put his arm around your shoulder and say...." His voice dwindled.

Gibbs was not sure he understood, but he did notice the change in the pronoun that Tony used. He waited. Tony looked at him, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. Wordlessly, Gibbs shook his head.

Tony drew a slow breath, frowned and then continued. "Until today Paulie had hope - hope that his father would be something other than a bastard. The hope hadn't been beaten out of him yet." He turned to look at Gibbs. "That hope was something to hang on to, something to look forward to. That maybe one day he'd have a father like everyone else did." Tony shrugged, almost apologetic. "It's a powerful thing, hope, even if it isn't real."

He turned to look back at the now sleeping child. "And I took that away from him," he said softly. "His father was a bastard, and now, thanks to me, he'll always be a bastard. I killed his father. And his hope."

There was silence. Tony turned and slowly walked away. As if suddenly overcome by exhaustion, he folded into a chair in the waiting area and dropped his head into his hands.

Whether because Tony needed him, or because he needed to be close to Tony, Gibbs moved silently to sit beside his senior agent.

Gibbs had no idea what to say about Paulie's feelings, but there was one thing he did know. "You did the right thing, Tony, you know that don't you? The shooting. It was absolutely the right thing to do. You saved his life."

Tony raised his head and looked at him, his eyes clear and steady.

"I know Boss. And I'd do it again, in a heartbeat. But it still hurts."

Gibbs was reassured. At least Tony had the comfort of not second guessing his actions. But there was more he needed to say.

Gently he again rested his hand on Tony's shoulder, ensuring that he had the younger man's undivided attention.

"The easy part of being a parent," he began slowly, "the fun part, is doing the things that make your child happy. Make them smile." His mouth crooked up momentarily at the recollection. "But the most important part, and the hardest part, is doing the things that make your child unhappy but that you know are necessary." He drew a slow breath. "There are things you have to do to teach a child and to keep them safe. Seeing your child sad or angry, seeing them cry and knowing that it's because of something you did, it breaks your heart, but you do it. Because that's what a good parent does, Tony. That's what you did today. You did what you had to do."

Tony was silent, pondering the words then cleared his throat. Gibbs could almost see him trying to decide. Ask, Tony, he thought. Ask.

"Do you mean like spanking them, if they're naughty?"

"No," Gibbs responded immediately, "I mean like giving them medicine that they don't want." His mind flashed back to an image of Kelly at five years old, big blue eyes filled with tears begging him not to let the doctor give her a shot. How he'd made himself hold her down he still didn't know.

He shook his head a little to clear it, and continued. "If they are naughty, you correct them, deny them something they want, ground them. But hitting them?" He shook his head.

Tony looked at him, frowning. "So if..." he hesitated, "no matter how naughty..." he hesitated, "... Kelly was, you never spanked her?" Tony's shoulder was tight under Gibbs' hand, his eyes watchful.

Gibbs gave the shoulder a reassuring squeeze, to convey that the question was allowed. Then he shook his head again. "Never."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"I don't mean she was never naughty," Gibbs clarified with a slight smile. "But I never hit her."

"Never?" Tony asked in disbelief.

"Never. Tony, I'd never hit a child. No adult should. You're an adult for god's sake. If you can't find a better way to communicate with a child than by causing them physical pain, then you've got no business raising a child. And it doesn't work anyway. All you do is make them angry and resentful. And you show them that if someone hurts them or defies them, it's okay to use violence. I wanted my child to learn that doing physical harm to another person is only acceptable when it's in self defence or to defend another person, but not just to get what you want."

"Or if they need a head-slap?" Tony asked glancing sideways at Gibbs, a corner of his mouth twitching.

Gibbs gave a snort. "You're not a child, DiNozzo" he retorted. "And I never actually hurt you. " He hesitated. "Do I?"

Tony shook his head. "No Boss. I know it's just your way of showing your strangely misplaced affection for us."

Gibbs shook his head, then conceded the point with a small smile and a shrug. But Tony was frowning again, and Gibbs raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"What if the child does something," Tony began, "something really bad? What about then?"

Gibbs paused. He wondered what Tony was thinking of, what he had done as a child that he thought justified the way he had been treated. Gibbs tried to imagine the man as a boy. He knew that for all his jokes and teasing Tony was not a cruel person, nor was he destructive or violent. He would have been high spirited, but to Gibbs' way of thinking that's what children should be. No matter what Tony had been told, Gibbs was sure that by his standards there was nothing Tony would have done as a child that was "really bad". And he needed to make Tony understand that no matter what he had done, it made no difference.

"No Tony," he said firmly. "Nothing justifies it. I made a decision when Kelly was born that I would never hit her. God knows, sometimes I was angry enough, but something always stopped me."

Tony's eyes asked the question.

"That," he said softly, gesturing with his hand towards the door to Paulie's room.

"But you weren't like his father. You would never have...." Tony responded immediately, denial strong in his voice.

"I know that. I would never treat my child, or any child, the way Paulie has been treated." Or the way you were, Gibbs thought, but did not speak it aloud, trusting instead that it was understood.

Gibbs could see Tony needed more. "If it's okay to hit a child when they do something "really bad"," he explained, "then it's up the parent to decide what is "bad enough". And it's up to the parent to decide when and how hard to hit." He could see a crease re-form on Tony's forehead as he struggled to absorb Gibbs' words. "Every time a child misbehaves, the parent has to decide how to react, how to discipline the child. Most parents will decide wisely. But some are going to make wrong decisions; terrible, awful decisions. Decisions made out of anger or frustration or exhaustion." Now he spoke more slowly. "If a parent decides it's okay to hit a child once, then they can decide to keep hitting, because they think they have the right to do it. That puts every child at risk." He paused and looked over at the door to the room. "And if even one child ends up like Paulie, that's too high a price."

Gibbs wasn't given to speeches but he wanted Tony to understand. He wanted him to see that his father, and Paulie's, had fallen so far below the standard of care that a loving parent should provide. He needed Tony to understand that in Gibbs' eyes nothing he or Paulie had done could ever have justified even one day of the treatment they received. He needed Tony to know that he deserved better.

Slowly Tony nodded, and Gibbs squeezed his shoulder again.

"What you did," Gibbs finished softly, "showed me one thing. It showed me that you'll be a good father one day."

Tony gave a quiet snort and looked away. But his eyes came back, searching out Gibbs' gaze. He was wary, as if looking for the retraction, the joke, the punchline. Gibbs did not look away.

"You will Tony," he insisted. "Today, you did what you had to do. You kept him safe. And then you sat there and let him yell at you, let him say he hated you. You sat there through his anger and his tears and you didn't hit back. That's what a good father does."

Tony closed his eyes and dropped his head. After a few moments a slight, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I can hardly imagine it, Boss," he murmured.

Gibbs smiled. "I can," he affirmed softly. "I can."

********

I never intended continuing this story, because people seemed to like it and I did not want to ruin it! But this idea popped into my head and wouldn't go away.

I also never intended including an anti-spanking message in a story, but it fit this story so well. And it is consistent with my vision of Gibbs as a father. I am really uncomfortable with stories in which physically violent punishment is meted out to children in the name of discipline. Despite my views, I don't post reviews criticizing those stories, because people are entitled to write what they want. I am hopeful of receiving the same courtesy in return.

Otherwise, please feel free to review.


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